


Of course, I’m right. I’m always right

by SamanthaCBlack18



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Happy Birthday, M/M, present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3148931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaCBlack18/pseuds/SamanthaCBlack18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little birthday present. For bicuriousrohirrim and for our John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of course, I’m right. I’m always right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bicuriousrohirrim](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bicuriousrohirrim).



> This is for my little baby [bicuriousrohirrim](http://bicuriousrohirrim.tumblr.com/). Happy birthday sweetheart!

A pearly light always lit mornings in 221B Baker Street. Was it winter or was it summer? It did not matter what season was. A slight layer of clouds always covered London’s sky. Moreover, as much as John had appreciated the hot sun of Afghanistan that burned his skin day after day, there was something more familiar about that iridescent light, something that always made him think about home, safety and family.

John’s mornings were a routine that never changed. He got up. He went to the bathroom to do his business. He climbed slowly down the stairs, in the morning his leg was always bothering him most. He entered the kitchen, switched on the light and started a pot of coffee. He crossed the room over to the fridge and got out four eggs, bacon and a couple of sausages, sometimes tomatoes or beans. He got a pan out of the cupboard and set it up to fry the bacon, the sausages and the eggs. In the meantime, he took two slices of bread and put them in the toaster. As soon as the pan was hot enough, he shoved four slices of bacon and the sausages in it. He rolled them around for three minutes, left them simmer the time he needed to set the table, with silverware and napkins, and then he cracked the eggs, letting them slide out of their shells into the boiling grease of the meat. Soon the albumen turned a vivid white all around the yolk, then John carefully lifted with a fork the part of albumen that was still covering the yolk. A minute later, the toaster dinged. He turned off the flame, leaving the pan over there. Then he checked the coffee and poured two cups. He left one over the counter near the toaster and took the left one with him.

After that, it came the most fun part of his morning routine. Waking Sherlock up. It was not an easy task, but he had his own method. He first knocked on the door. There was never an answer to that, but he knew that he had to do it; if he did not, then Sherlock would wake up with a startle and be grumpy all day. Therefore, he knocked and opened quietly the door. He crossed over to the bed putting the steaming cup on the nightstand. John looked down on the already half-awake man, shook his head and softly called his name. He did not receive any answer to that either. He walked around the bed to the window and opened the dark blue drapes. He called Sherlock’s name another time, this time a bit louder and sharper, and then he returned to the kitchen.

He switched off the light, got to the cupboard taking out two plates, and started setting out breakfast. First, he buttered the still warm toasts laying them on the top half of the plate. Secondly, he made the two eggs slide carefully slide over each toast, leaving the bottom half of the plate still empty. Then with the pliers, as not to spill too much grease in the plate, he put two slices of bacon and a sausage on each plate. Finally, he took his cup of coffee that was still steaming over near the toaster bringing it to his lips and taking a little sip of the hot liquid.

That was always the moment when Sherlock showed up, when John’s methodical routine slightly changed day after day. Sometimes the other man was in a giddy mood and other days he was of a darker mood than an approaching storm. Those days were more frequent when he did not have many investigations to work on. Apparently though, today was one of those dark days.

Sherlock entered the kitchen still wrapped in the sheet. He almost looked like a cat that had been abruptly dumped in a pool of water even though he was not wet at all. He had that ruffled air surrounding him. Most probably, he got out on the wrong side of the bed. John sighed deeply, mentally preparing himself for a long day.

“Good morning.” John greeted him, trying to sound as cheery as possible while he brought the plates to the table.

“Yeah. Not at all.” Sherlock muttered dropping on his chair, almost spilling half of his coffee that he always brought back to the kitchen with him.

“What is it?” John asked, setting his napkin on his thighs.

Sherlock mumbled something staring right at the plate in front of him.

“What was it?”

“Nothing.” Sherlock started nibbling at the food on his plate. Quietly gazing around the room as if looking for something.

John shrugged, guessing it was better to leave him to stew in his own juice. He started eating methodically his meal. First, he cut a small bite of the sausage, closely followed by one of toast and egg. Then a bite of bacon and another bite of egg. He looked at his plate, realizing how unbalanced bacon and eggs were in comparison to the sausage. Therefore, he ate another bite of bacon and another of toast. There, now it was more balanced. He ate another piece of sausage and another bite of toast, looking up at Sherlock.

“Is something wrong with the eggs? Do you need some salt?” John finally asked, already halfway through his breakfast, when Sherlock had eaten almost nothing.

“No.” Sighed the other man. “It’s your birthday.”

“What? No, it’s not.” John replied confused.

“It’s August 7th. It’s your birthday.” John looked confused, then he got up crossing the room to the little calendar. He scanned the page to get to the right day. Yes, it was his birthday and he did not remember it.

“You are right. “

“Of course, I’m right. I’m always right.”

John rolled his eyes. Of course he was. He got back to his chair to finish his breakfast. Quickly, he ate the last bite of eggs that were already almost cold. He slowly chewed them looking at his best friend still playing around with the food on his plate.

“Would you mind telling me why are you so upset about my birthday?” John finally asked.

Sherlock lifted his gaze and mumbled something, low and quick, and then got back to playing with his food.

“What was that?” John drank some of his coffee lifting an eyebrow, unimpressed with the other man behaviour.

“I said, I didn’t get you a present.” Sherlock said managing to sound exasperated.

“When have you ever remembered to buy me a present?” John quipped, putting the last bite of sausage.

“That is not the point. I should have got you a present, still I did not.” Sherlock threw his sheet off his shoulders, letting it pool in his lap.

“Yes you should have, but I don’t really care you did not. So, don’t sweat it.”

Sherlock stared at the other man completely confused. Most people always craved presents, so why did John not want any? Why did that man always confuse him so much? When he was around John all his human skills went more than ever out of the proverbial window leaving him completely out of useful knowledge.

Sherlock’s mind started rushing through a number of suitable presents he could have gotten him. A book. No, John read a little. A movie. Even less. He never saw him watching any movies. No, no, no. That was not working.  Sherlock shrugged his head.

John sighed at Sherlock’s antics, he was so used to them, but sometimes the man still managed to surprise him with the things that made him worry. If one could call that moment of confusion that sometimes hit Sherlock, worry. He finished his breakfast deciding to ignore the other man for the time. He got up and started cleaning up his breakfast, putting the plate and silverware in the sink, scooping up the cup of coffee, finishing it and leaving it in the sink too. He gazed back at Sherlock who was still there staring in the space.

John shrugged deciding to let him be for some time while he went to the bathroom to get out of his pyjamas. He quickly changed, putting on a pair of trousers and a shirt, oh, he forgot to take out a sweater. Well, later he would have to go and get one, but first he had to clean up the dishes.

When he got back to the kitchen, he found out that Sherlock had not moved. Of course, he had not. His gaze was still lost in space.

“Are you done?” John exclaimed loud enough to distract him from his stupor.

“Uh? Oh, yeah, sure.” Sherlock mumbled distracted. John rolled _again_ his eyes. The man was impossible sometimes, what was he saying, he was _always_ impossible to bear with.

Without saying another word, he took the half-eaten breakfast from the table, knowing that Sherlock would not eat it anymore, and put it in the fridge with some plastic wrap over it. Then he set up to wash his plate and mug, but when he turned around to go and get Sherlock’s mug, John bumped into the other man.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?”

Sherlock was staring at him in the eyes with his head slightly inclined to the side.

“Sherlock. What.”

The taller man scrutinized him carefully pondering his options. He slightly bended at the hip.  John watched his every move, trying to understand what he was going to do, without moving a muscle. They were so close that their nose brushed briefly, Sherlock’s eyes closed in reaction to the touch.

Time stopped. Nothing moved. The air frozen around them.

Then a couple of heart-shaped lips laid a chaste kiss on their thin twins. A pair of turquoise eyes fluttered open, seeking some sort of confirmation. Despite his surprise, John stepped on his tiptoes and dropped another chaste kiss on Sherlock’s lips. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened in shock. He backed up hastily and murmured a hurried “Happy birthday.”, then he looked down to his sides to gather the sheet that for some miracle was still hanging from his hips and walked towards his own room.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> @bicuriousrohirrim: And just know that I'm Sherlock and you are my John.


End file.
